


Give Me More

by Kiahni_C



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, One-Shot, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 14:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13125225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiahni_C/pseuds/Kiahni_C
Summary: “What are you looking at, crow?” I question with a tilt of my head, a boldness rising within me.“Why, I’m looking at you, Warden,” he murmurs in reply, his piercing gaze studying my face as though it’s the pages of a book, a language he can’t quite understand.***Kallian doesn't talk much, doesn't open up to the people around her. She prefers her edges to be sharp than to love and lose again. Zevran decides that opening up is exactly what she needs but Kallian is a raging fire that is terrified of the flame.





	Give Me More

“The ambush will be here,” I murmur, trailing cold fingers down a crudely drawn ridge on the map. An icy wind spreads dirt across the parchment and I hastily brush it away, shivering as I do so. “I need you to be here, creating a distraction.” I shift as another freezing wind snakes down my spine, eager to drag myself to my tent and huddle beneath furs. “Can you do that?” I question, finally looking up at the rogue that lounges in the grass and dirt before me, golden hair shining in the light of the moon. I narrow my silvery gaze, his attention clearly elsewhere. “Zevran,” I almost growl, my muscles aching from the long day of travel, the others already retired to their tents but the assassin insisted that I go over the plan again. He lazily drags his amber eyes back to me, studying my face for a long moment, leaning back on his elbows, his legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. “Are you even listening?” He seems to muse this question for a moment before he shrugs.

“You wish to use me as bait.” I let out a sigh, dropping my head, short, pale hair falling around my face and brushing my cheeks.

“You are not a slab of meat, Zevran. Now please, do try to pay some semblance of attention.” I tuck my hair behind my ears and dive back into my explanation of how we’re to set up an ambush, finding the work, the task, almost relaxing. Strategy and planning have always been what I’m best at. Arguing politics and tolerating nobles has always been my downfall. Being a City Elf, spat on, ridiculed, has given me a short leash when it comes to patience with people that think they know better.

I look back to Zevran to make certain I still have his attention and his gaze is indeed on me but certainly not on my face. My explanation halts as annoyance and anger churn in my gut.

“I am also not a slab of meat,” I hiss and his eyes find mine again and a smirk lifts the corner of his lips.

“You are much more appealing, no?” I grind my teeth, ducking my head to look back down at the map, reminding myself that this is just what he does. He flirts relentlessly, the smooth words coming as a second nature to the man. Just as a scowl and a scoff come easily to me. I’ve grown accustomed to being nonchalant when it comes to the advances of men, and some women, and the experience in the Alienage only hardened my heart further.

I can still feel the blood sliding between my fingers as I clawed with broken nails at the man’s face, his hands coiling around my neck like a snake, the shard of pottery cutting into my skin as I dug it into his eye, his screams echoing down the halls, sending more of the men running. I remember the silken wedding gown, the nicest thing I had ever worn, shredded and streaked with blood. I remember too much of that day and no one will touch me or those I love like that ever again. There is too much hate in that type of touch and my skin crawls at the memory of it.

I lift my gaze, meeting Zevran’s with a quirked brow and fierce eyes. He watches me intently, his own gaze cunning, eyes that don’t hint at anything trustworthy, just intelligent. Too intelligent. Not like the blustering and stumbling that Alistair seems to adopt or the outward innocence that Liliana loves to ooze or the open contempt that Morrigan scolds the others with. His gaze isn’t mystified and suspicious like Wynne’s, not cruel like Sten’s, and not wide and hazy like Oghren’s. Zevran is difficult to read, giving an air of mirth and civility though I know what lies beneath the surface of such men. I’ve seen his wicked grin as he twirls his bloodied blades, his clear distaste for the abusers, rapists, and scum that fester these lands. I hear his quiet gratitude as I put an arrow between the eyes of one of those abusers. He and I are far too similar, the only difference between us is where we bury our weaknesses and allow our strengths to show.

“What are you looking at, crow?” I question with a tilt of my head, a boldness rising within me.

“Why, I’m looking at you, Warden,” he murmurs in reply, his piercing gaze studying my face as though it’s the pages of a book, a language he can’t quite understand.

My eyes travel to the stars above us, tilting my head back and watching the glitter of a world beyond our own. My fingers slide through the blades of grass, the wind not feeling so cold, so unwelcome as my cheeks heat. He is indeed looking at me, seeing me like others cannot. Not as the stern Grey Warden leading them all to their possible deaths, but as a woman in a world too big for her to grasp. I don’t belong here and he doesn’t either and we both know this, we are both waiting for the world to simply stop ending so we can find where we belong again.

My eyes travel to him to find him studiously watching me.

“You piss me off,” I tell him blandly and he lets out a bark of laughter, his eyes crinkling at the edges and his full lips stretching into a smile.

“It is because we are opposites, my dear Warden,” he says, voicing my thoughts. We are opposites but we are the same.

“It is because you do not listen when I try to explain things. It is because you are a petulant child.”

“You wound me,” he sighs and stretches his arms above his head. “I am not at fault if you are a distracting sight.” I let out a snort and an exaggerated roll of my eyes.

“I have no idea why I even bother anymore.” I pick up the map and stand as I shake it of dust and roll it up, blowing a blonde strand of hair from my eyes before looking down at him. “I expect you to be up by dawn,” I tell him and nod my head goodnight and begin moving to my tent, further away from the others.

I never wanted this life, I never chose it. I’ve always wanted freedom, always wanted to escape the cage of humans and Alienages and marriage. But this isn’t freedom. This duty is like heavy chains around my ankles, dragging behind me with every step that I take. It slinks in my shadows, it harasses my thoughts, it has stolen me from my family, the people I bled to protect on that horrid day. I gave my freedom for them, I faced my judgement but never wanted this. But I’ve always been one to know what I had to do. I knew I had to marry though I didn’t want to. I knew that I would be bound to serve a man for the rest of my life until I saw him have his throat opened before me. And now I serve everyone, now I serve for our survival.

“It will not kill you to take pleasures where they are offered, Grey Warden,” Zevran says, his smooth, lilting accent stopping my steps and I tilt my head to look over my shoulder at him as he gets to his feet, brushing off his breeches, comfortable clothing he’s adopted while the days and nights are cold and slow. “Surely even the stoic and cold Warden would want to let go of responsibility sometimes, even if for a night, no?” I nearly curse myself aloud as a horrid blush crawls along my cheeks to my pointed ears and I turn my face away, looking out to the dark and ominous trees looming around us, seeming to watch on with amusement at my sudden embarrassment. I can handle Darkspawn, killers, rapists, dragons, walking skeletons, but I seem to crumble when it comes to Zevran’s flirtations, especially when it’s only the two of us.

“What are you proposing, crow?” I question.

“I suspect you already know,” he replies, his quiet footsteps shifting through the grass, the steps of an assassin. I do know but I can’t blurt out that I’ll never trust someone with my body, never assume that I will not be used and hurt. I will not put myself into someone’s hands like that. It nearly broke me with what happened the day of my wedding and they never… I am too stubborn, too furious to allow something like that ever to truly come to pass as it did to Shianni.

I suck in a breath and scowl at my memories. They seem to want to play tonight.

“I thought I wasn’t one of your targets anymore, assassin,” I say, my eyes straying to my tent, itching to be within the relative safety of those thin walls. The tent sits tucked beneath a tree, away from the obnoxious snores of Oghren. Far enough away that they can’t hear me wake with rasping breaths and a startled cry as the nightmare slips from my fingers.

“My aim is no longer to harm you, my Warden,” he says quietly, his voice a gentle caress on my senses as he steps closer, close enough for me to feel the warmth from him. My body begs me to lean into that warmth but I’ve learnt better, such things can burn, turn molten in a moment.

“No, you simply waste my time,” I reply coldly and step towards my tent but he places a gentle hand on my shoulder, the touch through the thin shirt I wear like a bolt of lightning down my spine and I instantly stiffen.

“What are you so afraid of?” he questions softly but his hand is still on my shoulder with that burning touch but it is not like the man with his hands wrapped around my throat, pushing himself between my legs but I hate it nonetheless. I grip his wrist, twisting around and pulling him forward, dragging him from his balance and hooking my legs in his until I can shove him to the dirt, press a knee to his chest and grip his hand in a way that will break his wrist if I desire it. He grunts beneath me, his eyes blazing with shock and… something else, a golden spark, an ember.

“I am not afraid, crow,” I tell him calmly and he shifts beneath my knee. I press down harder, my other leg stretched out to keep my balance.

“Then what are you, my dear Warden?” His words are low, heavy and the hand not in my grasp slides over the knee of my stretched-out leg, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns as it travels up my inner thigh. The touch is a searing brand that begins a boil low in my stomach. The moon flickers in his gaze, the breeze tugging at my short hair as my lips part to let loose a volley of protests and growls. But nothing comes out as I look into his eyes, see sincere curiosity and a lust that holds no depravity, no dark intent. My breath catches in my throat and refuses to move as he shifts my grip, twining our fingers and tugging me down, putting us almost nose to nose. His warm breath caresses my lips and gold and silver clash, the moon and the sun, as we stare at each other, a heavy silence yawning between us, a chasm of unspoken words and trembling fingers.

But touch burns and I refuse to bow to that fire.

“This is not a game I wish to play, Zevran, nor do you wish to play it with me.”

“Why is that?” he asks, his eyes descending to my lips, his head tilting and I clench my jaw.

“It is not your place to know, assassin,” I tell him firmly and move to get off of him but his movements are quick, precise, shifting the balance between us and driving me to my back. My heart lurches. Zevran lays his hands on either side of my head, kneeling over me, his hair falling messily around his face, a golden tangle that demands my fingers to be slid through them. I don’t dare move.

“You keep so many secrets, Warden, surely the burden is hard to bear?” He leans down, once again bringing us closer together but I don’t feel uncomfortable. There’s a challenge in his gaze, in the tilt of his lips. “Allow me to help you ease the burden.”

“You cannot help, crow,” I say bluntly, pressing my head to the dirt beneath me. “What could you possibly do to help?”

“Tell me what troubles you, Warden. Simply tell me so I do not need to make up excuses to get you alone. Tell me and I will help you.” I narrow my eyes at him. Of course he never needed my extra help, he’s a capable assassin. I knew yet I still did it anyway because a part of me enjoyed the quiet between us. Perhaps it was only quiet because he was waiting for me to talk.

“You’re an Elf, you know the struggle,” I sigh, raising my hands and wrapping them around his forearms absently. “Living in the Alienage was not a comfortable experience but it was home and now it is a nightmare. I do not want to go back, I never want to see that wretched place again because of the horror that happened there but… it’s the only place I apparently belong.” My voice grows quiet and I avert my gaze, looking to the trees as they watch in stunned silence as a I speak to an assassin that has tried to worm his way into my bed. “I have nowhere else to call home.”

“Perhaps we understand each other more than we care to admit,” he says quietly and shifts but I hold tight to his arms, keeping him close as my heart begins to painfully clench.

“You will return to Antiva one day, crow,” I reassure him though I don’t know why, I’m never one to give reassurances, they’re usually lies and lies rest like the taint on my tongue. But I know that Zevran is resilient and his devotion to his home will take him back to it, even if he must carve his way through the rest of the Crows to do it.

I’m tired of carving.

“I want to go home, Zevran, but I’m terrified that I won’t belong there anymore. Not after all of this, not after what I left behind there. You asked if I was afraid. I’m not afraid of the Archdemon or this Blight, I’m not afraid of Loghain or assassins, I’m terrified of losing the person I was because of it all, the person I was when I belonged somewhere.” I close my eyes, feeling the weight of my admission resting heavily upon me. Tears prick my eyes but I refuse to let them spill. “You wanted to know,” I mutter. “Well, there it is.”

“I am certain that is not all that worries you,” he assumes. I open my eyes to see him, to see his tanned skin, the curving black lines down his temple and cheek to his sharp jaw, to see the man that is more like myself than anyone else yet is completely different.

“What do you plan to do with this information now that you have it, assassin?”

“Use it against you when the Crows come to take my head. Or perhaps I’ll sell it, there are an endless number of possibilities.”

“Never trust a crow,” I grumble, humour forcing its way into my tone as his eyes sparkle and he moves closer, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips.

“Perhaps I could blackmail you with it, use it to get you naked beneath my hands.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I breathe, playing his little game even as red blooms on my cheeks.

“Oh, I believe I would. Would it work?” he asks. I let out a breath and simply look up at him, studying his features as though I’m seeing him for the first time. Zevran Arainai, Antivan Crow, hired to kill me and Alistair, failing miserably but even with him tied at my feet with a blade pressed to his throat, there was a strange relief in his gaze. And I recognized it, it called to my blood and it was the same relief I had felt when those guards had threatened my execution as the blood was crusting beneath my nails and Shianni’s cries still echoed in my ears. A strange relief that perhaps it could be over now, perhaps I could finally stop fighting.

I raise a hand, trailing a finger down his tattoo on the side of his brow, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone and feeling his warm skin. He leans into my touch as he keeps his eyes on mine, waiting, breaths shallow. Waiting for me.

That relief I felt at the possibility of finally being able to let go, to be free, he feels the same thing somewhere within him. I saw his quiet reluctance when I let him live, when I tilted my head and studied him for the longest time. The assassin is a man plagued with a guilt that rests deep in his bones and I have a festering wound within me that could be mistaken for the taint with its blackness, with the way it chars my soul.

“You don’t need to blackmail me, crow,” I say quietly, a whisper between us, a shared understanding that sparks in his amber eyes.

Touch burns but fire can close wounds.

He moves closer, seeming to test the distance between us like wading through the waters, avoiding the rocks. But I don’t flinch. I may have fears buried within me, I may have shattered pieces that insist on cutting those around me, but Zevran has those pieces too. He holds them close to his chest so they don’t hurt anyone else but I don’t have such compassion, I’ve never bothered to learn how to be kind. Kindness kills.

Zevran’s lips brush against mine, soft, wielding, a simple touch that demands nothing but is inclined for more. I tilt my chin, pressing our lips more firmly together, feeling the heat of his skin and his fingers that tangle in my hair. I cup his cheek, holding him to me as a strange and consuming heat curls around my stomach, boiling within me.

_You are a rebel, Kallian, like your mother. You don’t wish to marry but what else is there for you? What do you want?_

_I want to be rid of these walls, father. I want to feel alive._

_You have a duty._

_Aren’t I allowed to find something beyond duty? Something worth fighting for?_

My hands slide around his neck, needing to feel him, to be consumed by his warmth, to chase these memories and fears away. But also something else, to find something more in this land, something more than survival and duty. I need to keep breathing but I want to continue to live.

I hook a leg over his hip, dragging his body against mine, feeling his hard edges mould against my soft curves, pieces slotting together. He presses his hips against mine, tugging my lower lip between his teeth as he does so, sparking a moan low in my throat as the fire burns hotter within me.

There is more in this world than pain and I need to begin believing that again. Zevran is more than warmth, more than a gentle hand gripping my hip, holding our bodies close. He is more, much more. I saw it as he plucked a flower from the side of the road, such a rare and vibrant thing in this world of darkness and chaos. He’d studied it for a long moment as our small company continued to walk before his eyes found mine and he had smiled softly, twirling the flower in his fingertips so used to twirling blades slick with blood. He’d approached me and wordlessly tucked that flower into the belt at my hip, next to the knife that resided there. It had reminded me, that simple gesture, that though we were fighting, _are_ fighting, that we are fighting for something. Something _more_.

I’m reminded that he is more to me than soft lips that taste of apple and wine because of the stories we had shared over such things. His time as a Crow has given him plenty of tales to tell, the exaggerations he would play upon pulling a rare laugh from my lips.

“Warden,” he murmurs softly, breaking me from my memories once again but these memories don’t add further frost to my heart. “Kallian.” I blink my eyes open, looking up at him as my fingers slide through his hair, slightly gritty with dirt but the silkiness is still there, golden locks slipping through pale fingers. “My dear Warden, I do not want to seem like I’m forcing you to do anything.”

“Isn’t an assassin taught not to hesitate with his prey?” I question, wrapping a stand of his hair around my finger and tugging gently. A smile lifts the corner of his lips, eyes ablaze.

“You could never be prey, even if you tried, my dear,” he says, pressing smiling lips to my cheek and trailing down. “You are too stubborn.” A kiss it placed on my jaw, breath whispering against my ear. “Too fiery.” His lips caress the place on my neck where my pulse pounds, fingers tilting my chin up to gain better access as my breath hitches on my lips. His attentions send tingles through me, like the spark of a Mage’s power down my spine but he is no Mage, he is a man with a touch that ignites the fire in my stomach, the yearning.

“Zevran,” I whisper on a sigh as his lips glide along my neck, down to my collarbone where he bites tenderly, sending violent shivers through me and I grip his hair in trembling fingers.

More. I want more. Maybe that’s greedy of me, born from a place that has been deprived of everything, deprived of freedom, choice, fine things. Deprived of things I don’t need, things I simply crave. More. I crave this man, crave his lips, his touch, his velvety voice sliding along my skin.

“Please,” I almost whimper, a part of me knowing how pathetically weak I sound, desperate for something that I have deprived _myself_ of. He rises above me again, amber gaze studying my face, trying to see beyond the trivial things of me, trying to see my deepest desires.

“Tell me what you want, Warden,” he says in a low tone, voice husky, lust dripping like honey. I sit up on my elbows, willing myself to breathe, to cling to the steel in my heart, the fire in my veins that I have fed into myself through years of pain. I look him in the eye, seeing past the Crow, the damage, the nightmares that I hear him whisper in his sleep by the light of the fire when the stars are bright. I see past it as he sees past mine. This man will never hurt me, will never grip my flesh to bruise and break, not since his oath.

A life for a life. He owes me his life. I owe him mine for he has given me breath in my lungs this night when I was suffocating for so long.

“You,” I say, my voice firm, knowing this like I know the feel of a bow, like I know the taint in my heart. “I want you, Zevran. However you’ll let me have you.”

“Then you have me, Kallian.” I reach for him then, grasping fingers twisting in the soft and worn material of his tunic, dragging us together in a clash of teeth and lips. Passion burns between us, a wild, untameable thing, made from our hunger, our desperate need to find a light in the looming darkness.

Such a vibrant flower bloomed in these shadows, why can’t this?

His arms wrap around me, sure and strong as he pulls me closer to him, my legs hugging his waist. His heat seeps into me, battling against the cold in my heart. Fingers search for skin, for the silk of him, hastily pulling at his shirt, a desperation in the way I slant our lips, the way I open myself to him until our tongues are the next to battle, searching for more, getting lost in the tastes of each other, the fire between us.

He stands then, taking me with him, his hands smoothing over the softness of my backside as he walks. Our lips stay joined, sharing breath, unable to tame the heat, the ferocity of what consumes us.

I grind against him, feeling the hardness of him, his desire pressed against the core of me. More. Always wanting more. He grunts against my lips, pressing himself harder against me and stumbling slightly as we push through the tent-flaps, our gasps and groans confined to the thin walls.

He lays me down gently on the bundles of furs, the softness a blessed relief from the cold ground but the thought is quickly banished from my thoughts as I break away from him. Lips swollen, breaths heavy, skin hot. I meet his gaze once again, the molten in them curling my toes. I reach for his shirt, climbing to my knees as he lifts his arms and I peel it from his body and toss it aside, hungry eyes taking in the man before me. Golden skin, muscled and littered with pale scars of varying severity. Perfect. I want to hear the tales of them all, the amusing and the dark. But my trailing fingers are drawn to the swirling lines as his navel to match those on the side of his face. These disappear beneath the waistband of his breeches and I want to follow their coarse, so I tug at the laces that hide them.

His wandering fingers brush the short hair from my face as I kneel with him to untie his laces, the thudding of my heart surely heard across the camp.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, a fingertip sliding over a pointed ear and I absently lean into the touch. “But you wear too much clothing.” A small chuckle falls from my lips and his thumb traces my lower lip, his eyes taking in my face as if he is memorizing the sharp but petite edges, the flushed cheeks, the freckled nose. Seeing me, always seeing more than he should.

“Whatever you wish, crow,” I say quietly, a whisper between us as I strip the shirt from my body, bare beneath, having already planned to retire to the warmth of my tent when Zevran dragged me over to the fire, the flames flickering in his smiling eyes. His eyes are now filled with a burning lust to rival the fire as his gaze wanders my body. I swallow the lump in my throat as a silence stretches between us, a shiver running down my spine. There are scars, scars from a life before this one and a life fighting Darkspawn and bandits. Both of these lives have decided to tell their tales using the pale skin of my body as a canvas. My arms raise, crossing over my chest, sudden self-consciousness rising within me. No man has looked at me with such a gaze, no man has been privy to me revealing myself of my own will and now that I have… awareness dawns that I’m too small in some places, too narrow in others, too scarred to be considered attractive.

“Do not hide yourself,” he murmurs, a frown forming on his face as his calloused hands reach for my wrists.

“I understand that I may not be like the others you’ve… been with,” I say, hesitancy in my words, eyes not able to meet his gaze when my eyes were so fierce only a moment ago. How the world has stripped away everything I once appreciated about myself.

“You are perfect as you are, my dear,” he says softly, his voice like the smoothest of wines as he wraps my arms around his neck and brings us closer together. “I am not asking you to be like the others, they do not matter.”

“There’s not need to reassure me, crow,” I sigh, burying my face in the crook of his neck. “Just… show me there’s more in life than this futile fight.” His fingers are gentle and warm as they trail down my waist and he presses a featherlight kiss to my temple. A hand finds a path further down, slipping into the waistband of my breeches. My lips are against his neck, tasting the skin there, the spice of him, breathing in the scent of leather and smoke and something that he brought from Antiva, the spice of his skin carries a scent. An ocean that seems like worlds away, tasting of music and laughter, smelling of freedom and wildness.

His dextrous fingers find my core and I gasp in the scent of him as his fingers dip into the warmth of me, sliding through my obvious arousal and rubbing mind-numbing circles at the bundle of nerves there. My moan is lost against his skin, hands gripping his hair, needing to cling to something as a finger enters me and I clench around him, shuddering as I grasp him.

“I love your sounds,” he says with a small chuckle, an arm wrapped around my waist to keep me upright as I rock against his hand, desperate for some sort of a release. He is torturously slow as he pleasures me with only a hand, my nerves on fire, my head swimming.

“More, Zevran,” I command on a shaky whisper. He turns his head and his lips nudge against mine, urging me to give myself more fully to him and at this moment I’d give him everything I have, everything I am. Our lips clash together once again, biting and suckling, a war of control until I nearly growl when he pulls his hand from me, mischief in his smirking gaze and I scowl at him.

“Now, my dear Warden, what type of man would I be if I left a lover wanting?” he says with a tilt of his head and before I can muster the words to reply I find myself on my back, the softness of the furs beneath me as Zevran kneels above me, untying what remains of his laces, eyes watching me in the darkness of the dwindling fire outside. “I want furs in my tent,” he notes and he reaches for my pants, pulling them from my legs as I watch the muscles shift in his arms, years of fighting honed into them.

“Perhaps you could borrow some of mine,” I suggest as I wiggle my hips to help him, a breathlessness in my tone.

“Or perhaps I could come here more often,” he replies, full lips twisting into a smile and his lightness, his confidence and shamelessness settles the nerves that war inside me, the anxiety that twists in my stomach as a man kneels between my bare legs. But this man is different to the man with the sneer on his lips and the bite in his grip, this man has a gentleness in his hands that I wouldn’t have expected from an assassin. There’s a softness in his tone that chips at the ice in my heart.

“In this harsh cold it is only polite to share one’s warmth with another,” I laugh, watching him as he pulls away his breeches efficiently, his body shadowed with dips and curves of muscle but still my fists clench in the furs beneath me as he settles himself over me, placing a light kiss to the tip on my nose. I close my eyes, trying to think past the fear as Zevran’s lips trail down my neck once more. But the image has branded itself into my eyelids, the image of the man tearing at my dress in a hurried frenzy, the shouts surrounding me, the sobbing, the shattering. The pottery in my hand, the feel of his blood splattering my face, the taste of it on my lips.

Zevran’s lips find a hard nipple and my toes curl, my back arching as his teeth bite and his tongue soothes.

He’d come to save us, a valiant effort of a boy who knew no better, a bow who didn’t know that the woman he had just promised himself to was a raging fire. He was too soft, too gentle and his wide eyes had been too shocked to see the blood on me, the dagger in my hand, to fight the blade that opened his throat before my eyes.

“Zevran,” I nearly sob because the pain, the utter torment clenches around my heart. He is different, he isn’t soft but shows me softness. He is a raging fire and our flames mingle.

“Kallian?” he asks, cupping my face in hands that don’t bruise and I finally pry my eyes open to see him again, to see the worry, the fear within them. He doesn’t know, none of them know and none of them will ever know. This is my burden to bare, my nightmare to overcome.

I push at Zevran and he doesn’t fight me as I switch our positions, putting him on his back beneath me as I straddle him. His hands grip my hips, his brow quirking at this sudden change but I want him, I want him and I want to forget and I’m tired of wanting. I want it to be.

With an unsteady hand and an unsteady breath, I guide the hardness of him to my entrance, gazing into his eyes and seeing him as I lower myself on him, slowly, so slowly, savouring the feeling of being filled by him. His fingers dig into the softness of my hips as I arch my back, hands on his chest to attempt to stabilise myself, to attempt to keep myself on this earth.

I begin to move then, uncertain, wading through dark, unexplored waters, letting my body find its pleasures.

Like this, in control, the fear doesn’t seem so important. There is nothing in these heated breaths but pleasure and desire, a pressing desire for more.

My hair brushes my cheeks as I dip my head, searching for his lips in the shadows and he meets me halfway. Lips lazily slide over each other, tasting and exploring as the rhythmic motion of our bodies brings moans from both of us.

He sits up more fully, arms wrapping around me, cocooning us in warmth and pleasure. He fills me, he swallows my gasps, he lets me control the pace, the rhythm, the song of us. His teeth bite into my neck, the hurt welcome, the soothe of his tongue even more so.

“Better then fighting Darkspawn, no?” he says against the skin of my neck and I laugh, a husky thing, barely able to make the noise as my muscles clench around him deliciously and he grunts, teeth against me once more.

“You may be more charming than Darkspawn.” I lean back slightly to look at him, bringing us face to face and pushing his hair from his face. His golden skin glistens with sweat, his fiery eyes alight.

“The Darkspawn have there moments.” At his words he grips me tighter, thrusting into me harder and a curse leaves my lips, earning a soft laugh from him. “Though I suppose I do too.”

“You are always charming,” I tell him and though it might be a selfish moment to tell him such a thing, to express my thoughts while there is such a fire between us, the words spill from my lips. “Charming to me. From the first moment I saw you, I saw sincerity in your eyes and I… I wanted to know you, I wanted to know your pain.”

“You do not need to know such things, my dear Warden,” he says, the tip of his tongue trailing along my collarbone but I cup his face in hands that are gentle when they have only ever wielded hurt.

“I want to, Zevran. I want to hear your song of sorrow because mine beats to the same rhythm.”

“Kallian,” he says in a low tone, bringing our lips closer. “Now is not the time for such a conversation.” I want to protest, tell him that if I don’t open up to him now then I never will but his lips are sealing mine and his fingers have found that bundle of nerves again that leaves me gasping.

Grasping. Grasping for more. Always more. He undoes me, all of my carefully laid defences and traps, the fears that I’ve neatly tied with a ribbon, the rage that I’ve always let reside just beneath the surface for a quick burn. He pushes through it all and I cling to him with arms that feel weak but burst with strength, shaky. On the verge of breaking but on the verge of completion.

“Kallian,” he whispers in my ear, hot breath caressing the pointed edge. “Let go, mi amor.” My body grips at him even as I cry out, as I burn. He crushes his lips to mine as he finds his release, burning with me, our tongues warring. I bite at his lip as the rhythm falters and a shudder leaves me. Our hearts thud together as I cling to him, cold air already feeling like ice on the sweat on my skin.

We both gracelessly fall onto the furs, rasping breaths filling the quiet around us. He groans as he shifts, dragging a fur over us before draping an arm over my waist and resting on his stomach, face turned to me, eyes squinting through the darkness. I heave a sigh and move closer to his warmth, a naked leg over his waist. He hugs me to his side and his eyes droop closed.

I press swollen lips to his shoulder, studying his face, watching the creases around his eyes smooth out.

“I’m rather fond of these furs,” he mutters, his voice muffled by said furs and I smile, my own exhaustion dragging at me.

“Go to sleep,” I order softly and though his breathing is already heavy, a smile still lifts the corner of his mouth. I watch him fall to sleep for a time, listening to his easy breaths, wondering where this leaves us. I have always lived my life unknowing. Not knowing my mother. Not knowing my heritage. Not knowing my future. But this… this unknowing between us? It’s not so harsh, it’s not so unwelcome because I know, I just know, that there will be more to stave away this darkness.


End file.
